


Island

by asuralucier



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Dolphins, Friendship, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mention of attempted suicide, Powered AU, Prescribed Pill Popping, Pseudo Science, Self Acceptance, X-Men: First Class (2011), implied anorexia, parental neglect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 13:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17899178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuralucier/pseuds/asuralucier
Summary: Charles is newly released from a mental hospital and swears never to use his powers again. He accompanies his cousin Hank to the remote island of Pala to work on his thesis. There, he meets Erik, a marine biologist who has a few secrets of his own.(Partially inspired by Madeleine L’Engle’sA Ring of Endless Light.)





	Island

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this way back when in 2011 and what started out as a little tongue in cheek AU about Erik the being an elasmobranchologist turned dolphin researcher kind of grew a heart and I still really like this, so I have cleaned it up. 
> 
> This fic was previously titled “Much Madness, the Divinest Sense” after the poem by Emily Dickinson, but that now sounds a bit hoity toity. Renaming it “Island” again calls to Aldous Huxley’s novel of the same name, from where I’ve also borrowed Pala. "Island" is also taken from John Donne's famous 'no man is an island' about how we're all less alone than we think. 
> 
> Please heed warnings. I hope you enjoy!

The orderly wore bright orange scrubs that made Charles think of prison. Charles didn’t like orange much, but any color was better than blinding white. The orderly approached him warily -- they all did, “How are you feeling today, Mr. Xavier?” 

“Fine,” said Charles, turning his eyes towards the ceiling, where a single flickering lightbulb only provided a little light. “Did someone come and fill out my paperwork?” Perhaps no one came for him; perhaps he was destined to rot here forever. He didn’t exactly mind that. It was no less than he deserved. 

“Your cousin, Hank McCoy. He’s in our waiting area now,” the orderly handed him a plastic tray with a neat array of pills arranged on it. “Once you take these, you’re more or less free to go. Dr. MacTaggert says you’re clear on your regimen, but if you need…”

“Just some water, thanks.”

“Here, have some water.” 

Wordlessly, Charles took the pills, swallowing them three at a time. There were nine in all. He was supposed to take them every six hours. 

Dr. MacTaggert wanted me to tell you that if you take these every day as instructed, you should be able to lead a normal life.” 

“Can’t I say good-bye to Moira?” 

“I’m sorry,” the orderly did not sound sorry. “She’s with another patient.” 

_You’re not her favorite. You’re still crazy. You’re still insa --_

Charles shut his eyes tight and waited until the thought faded away into a white hum before he spoke again. “What about my personal effects?” 

“Your cousin has your things,” said the orderly. “Come with me.” 

Some of the pills left a sour taste in his mouth. Charles swallowed the rest of the water in his cup before he stood up. His knees felt shaky, because ten hours in a twelve by twelve enclosure did not inspire much by the way of exercise. He tried not to pace too much, lest he started to go properly crazy. 

Charles was led to the waiting area, where a young man was engrossed in a complicated looking hardcover. The man had glasses, and had Hank’s impeccably bad fashion sense, sporting a checked green shirt and a yellow tie.

“Hank?” 

“Charles?” The man looked up, “Charles!” He put down his book on the vacant seat beside him, and walked over where Charles stood. “How are you feeling?” 

“Drugged up,” said Charles, which was the truth. “But all right.” 

“Right,” Hank’s expression twitched a little. “Aunt Sharon and Kurt are a little tied up with work. So I guess you’re stuck with me until tonight. -- Oh, and that bag has your things, might want to grab that.” 

Charles did. The bag felt strangely light, but then again, he’d come in almost empty-handed. He found that he could not recall the contents of the bag. As he followed his cousin outside, he said, “What’s in here?” 

“Your watch, your wallet, Doors of Perception by Huxley. And a scarf I threw away, it was molded. And a notebook. Did you work on it any?” 

“What, my thesis? What’s the point? No one’s going to read it now, are they?” He had worked on it a little, Moira had said it’d be good for him, but Charles firmly believed that no one was going to read the research of a newly rehabilitated mental patient, no matter how supposedly brilliant it was. It was difficult to tell the difference between brilliance and madness. They were a bit like deranged first cousins. Charles kept that part to himself. 

Hank drove a nice car. It wasn’t the same car from two years ago, which was a bit of a rust bucket, but two years was a long time. Charles got in the passenger’s side and searched in the bag for his watch. Hank had already adjusted it for him, with an alarm set to go off every six hours. “Oh. And um, how’s Cain?” 

“Kurt packed him off to Barcelona or someplace like that. You don’t have to worry about him,” Hank turned the key in the ignition and maneuvered the car slowly into the street. 

_I’ll be okay. He doesn’t look like a freak._

“Pardon?” Charles blinked. 

Hank said, “I -- didn’t say anything.” 

_Oh, God. Did he hear me? He’s on medication, I --”_

Charles looked out the window. He had long since forgotten how much color was in the world. There was green in the grass, blue in the sky, with slashes of lavender and orange signaling the oncoming sunset. “Never mind, Hank. It’s just my imagination. Surely you’re not going to hold that against me?”

Hank lived in a three-room apartment on the nice side of town. It was a nice change from the dinky flat he’d rented while he was in still in university, the one that he shared with rats and a possible bum. It even had a gate and everything. Then again, fresh out of Harvard and knee-deep in postgraduate grants and funding, Hank had a bright future. Charles had been one semester away from graduating when everything had gone south. It was hard not to feel a little jealous. 

“You can have the guest room next to the study,” said Hank. “I had the sheets changed and I cleaned it up. If it smells funny, ignore it. I vacuumed it and everything. Should be fine.” 

Charles took a moment to bite back, “So I guess this means I’m not staying with my parents.” Which was good, he didn’t exactly want to stay with them anyway. He exchanged it for, “Thanks for putting me up.” 

“No problem, make yourself at home. I’ve got a few errands I have to run, but I should be back by eight tonight?” Hank looked about ready to bolt out the door again. “We could grab a late dinner.” 

His head was pounding, and he had to sit down. The closest chair was a kitchen stool. The pills always gave him the worst headaches in the first hour or so. The fact that Charles’ surroundings had shifted so rapidly didn’t exactly help much, either. 

“You okay, there?” 

“Yeah, just fine. Go run your errands, don’t worry about me.” 

Hank went, and Charles went to the guest bedroom. It smelled, but it was clean. Hank had also taken the liberty to fill the closet with Charles’ clothes. Because Hank was Hank, there was a poster of the periodic table hanging above the bed-frame, and not much else in terms of decoration. There was a scrawl, someone’s signature on the lower-left hand corner. Charles squinted hard, but didn’t recognize whose. 

Somewhere, a phone was ringing. It took Charles a moment to locate the phone in Hank’s living room. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi, this is Dr. Moira MacTaggert from the Stryker Institute.” Said a woman’s voice that was so comfortingly familiar, “may I speak to Charles Xavier, please?” 

“Moira, hello.” Charles felt a smile come to his lips, “This is Charles. I was sorry that I didn’t get to say good-bye to you earlier.” 

“I’m sorry too. I was with a patient, someone had an accident this morning, involving a straitjacket. Not pretty.” Moira laughed a little. “Where are you staying now?” 

“My cousin Hank’s,” Charles sat down on the couch. “I’m probably going to be here a while.”

“Oh, so you’re not...” she trailed off. She probably felt sorry for him.

“No, but that’s okay. Not your fault, you didn’t know.” He didn’t have to read her mind for that one, Moira was a naturally kind person, She was the one that made these two years bearable for him. 

There was some talking in the background. Charles heard, “ -- Dr. MacTaggert? We have a situation...” 

A moment after that, she said, “Charles, I’m sorry. I have to go.” 

“Patients come first,” Charles told her. “Don’t worry about it. -- I heard in the background.” The addendum was tacked on just in case she thought he was reading her, because he wasn’t. “But thank you for calling. I really appreciate it.” 

“Charles, if you ever need _anything_. Don’t hesitate to call me.” 

“I will, thank you, Moira. For everything.” 

“Don’t mention it. Good luck with everything, Charles. Talk to you soon.” She hung up. Despite her last sentiment, the call had an odd air of finality. He resolved not to think about it too much. 

He walked back into his room. Then he walked back into the kitchen again. Charles walked with measured steps, going carefully along the wall. Some of the wallpaper was peeling. Which was just as well, Hank might want to change the wallpaper anyway; it looked hideous, maybe Charles could talk him into it. 

The phone rang again, making him jump, but he found that he was grateful for the noise. 

“Hello?” 

“Hello, Charles? This is Daniel Shomron. I just ran into your cousin here at the lab, and he said you were released today.” 

It sounded like he’d gone to prison. Then again, he almost had, “I did, sir.” (‘Thank you for calling to congratulate me upon my release,’ didn’t sound quite right.) 

Professor Shomron said, “I do hope that you’ll drop by sometime to see me once you get settled? You do know I’ll be expecting you to finish your thesis? Fascinating piece of work, that. If you finish, I’ll talk to some people. See if we can’t make a few exceptions. You have a brilliant mind, Charles, don’t let that go to waste.” 

“I, well.” 

Professor Shomron had this habit of barreling through everything, and he did so now, saving Charles the trouble of coming up with a coherent answer. “Just think, Charles, your research will give credibility to your condition. What have you got to lose?” 

Charles’ head hurt. This time, it wasn’t from the pills, the professor’s enthusiasm usually left him overwhelmed even when Charles had been knee-deep and interested in his thesis. For the purposes of his argument, Shomron had left out the fact that Charles’ “condition,” as he so delicately put it, had very real consequences. Consequences he was still reaping now. 

“I’m sorry, Professor, but I have to go. I think my mother’s calling.” (She wasn’t; he doubted that she ever would. But it was the most normal excuse Charles could come up with at a minute’s notice.) “I’ll drop by sometime next week.”

“Charles --” 

“Good-bye, Professor. Thank you very much for calling.” 

Before he could change his mind, Charles hung up. He made a mental note to talk to Hank.

 

“Did you tell Professor Shomron to call me? Because if you did, you didn’t need to.” 

Hank smelled like his work at the lab, reminding Charles why he liked scientific theory much better than actual application. “I didn’t tell him to call you. I just ran into him, and he asked about you. You were always his favorite. Which is, you know, why he supervised your thesis and went to bat for you.” Hank watched him curiously, “What’d he want?” 

“For me to finish my thesis. Remember? He’s sort of one-dimensional like that.” Which was sort of unfair, because Shomron had testified for him, as Hank had just said. 

“You should do that, you know. Shomron knows people. He could set you up with connections, or whatever.” 

_He’ll make you sound not crazy._

Charles winced as his watch started beeping. He turned it off. 

“Charles?” 

“I have to take my medication.” Charles disliked stating the obvious, but sometimes the obvious was convenient, easy. And he didn’t have to think about the obvious.

Hank fetched him a cup of water, and watched him lay out his pills, one by one. His eyes grew wide, “Won’t you develop massive side effects?” 

“Migraines, nausea, dizziness...” Charles put the row of bottles aside. “My doctor says it feels a lot like being pregnant.” The only other alternative was feeling like a paranoid schizophrenic. He’d rather be pregnant. 

Hank laughed, but only a little. 

They had pizza in front of the television, watching a special on wildlife conservation. During a commercial break, Hank sad, “ -- So, did Aunt Sharon ever call?” 

“I’d be surprised if she does,” of course Sharon was his mother, but Cain was her stepson. (He was still an idiot, but maternal instincts knew no distinction.) 

Hank said nothing.

 _Even his mother abandoned him. I shouldn’t be feeling like this. He doesn’t have anyone, now._

Charles practically bolted from his seat on the couch and ran for the bathroom. 

“ -- Charles?” 

“I have to throw up.” 

 

Charles knew it was wrong to hate Hank, but sometimes, he couldn’t help himself. He took a seat on the edge of the bathtub and took deep breaths. Deep breaths. He didn’t need to think about anything. He just had to give the pills some time to settle. He didn’t really need to throw up, but it was the best he could come up with at a moment’s notice. 

Deep. Breaths. 

“Hey, Charles?” 

“What do you want?” 

“Aunt Sharon’s on the phone.” 

In his impeccable memory, the phone had not rang in the last three hours. Which meant Hank must have called his mother, he really meant well, but Charles wished he wouldn’t. 

“Charles?”

“Coming,” said Charles. His knees were starting to feel wobbly again. He managed to get to the door, and leaned against the doorframe, holding his hand out for the phone. “Here.” 

“Charles, are you...” 

“I’m fine. Fine.” Charles held the phone up to his ear, “Mother?” 

“Charles, honey? How are you feeling?” 

“I’m feeling just brilliant,” Charles said flatly. “Thanks for asking.” Hank was still lingering nearby, and it seemed the television was suddenly on mute; he couldn’t say anything too incriminating. 

“That’s good. That’s great,” the words sounded labored, like it was causing her so much pain just to say them. “Listen, has Hank talked to you about going to Pala?” 

Pala. Charles’ first thought went to the Huxley novel, but then he remembered that Pala was a newly established island a few hours off of the coast of California, said to be a pioneer in wildlife conservation. “No?” 

“Well, he’s going to be interning there for the summer,” Sharon said. “Being outdoors will help you, you know, readjust. It will be good for you, Charles.” 

“Does Hank know you’re talking to me about Pala?” 

There was a long pause, “Charles, I told you to _stop_ that. Aren’t you on medication?” 

“I’ve taken all my pills,” said Charles. The very mention of pills made his head start spinning again. “That was just common sense.” 

“Regardless, I think you should go.” (Far away from here.) 

“I’ll talk to Hank,” with that, Charles hung up. His social graces were lacking, but maybe that wasn’t surprising. He went to replace the phone in its cradle before he took a seat on the couch again. 

“...So, you’re going to Pala?”

“You could come coming with me,” said Hank. “They’re not even opening it up for tourism yet, I’m just there for research and stuff. They’re setting up a lab with really interesting cultures. Don’t worry, there’s not going to be that many people floating around.” He didn't say any more than that. But he was thinking something. The pills were working because Charles didn't know what.

Charles reached for some water, “My mother’s trying to pawn me off on you. I know that. Doesn’t mean you have to indulge her.” 

To his credit, Hank said, “She’s not. I offered to take you with me.” 

_Maybe we can go back to how things used to be. Things can be normal again._

That was worse than pity. “Hank, things aren’t going to be the way they were. Look at me. Today I was let out of a mental institution. You know what I did. You know what I’m capable of. Don’t _do_ that to me.” 

“Charles, I’m sorry, I --” 

“I’m going to bed. It’s not you -- it’s just. It’s been a long day.” 

 

Charles lay very still in the darkness. He stared at the ceiling. There were specks of green, blue, and yellow. They sparkled like fireflies. The specks danced and whirled all right him. He bounced the colors off of the mirror mounted on the wall and then they were gone. 

Still, it was long time before he got to sleep. 

 

The next morning, Hank left Charles breakfast and a note. 

_Menus are on the top shelf of the second bookshelf in the study from the left. Won’t be back all day. Emergency at the lab. Call if you need anything._

Underneath, there was a neatly printed number. It took him only a moment to memorize it, and then he tossed the note in the trash. 

After making himself some toast and buttered bread, Charles went on the Internet and did a cursory search for Pala. 

Pala was an island off the coast of California, hailed as a courageous modern conservation effort. It was U.S. territory, although sometimes that wasn’t always certain. It was founded in 2007 by a team of respected scientists from Harvard, Cornell, Oxford, and the University of Toronto. Their collective vision was to open a rich, natural environment to showcase the wonders of the world as originally intended. It was not surprising that Hank McCoy was at the forefront of such a movement even if it did sound a bit Jurassic Park. Charles recognized some other names too. 

The rest of the day passed without much happening. He read, he tried to work on his thesis, he watched television. Then Charles walked outside to a nearby deli to buy a sandwich. Hank called once to check on him. Charles answered that he was fine. 

It was nice to be alone with himself again without white walls and sour-faced orderlies in bright orange, but it only took two days of repeating this routine for Charles to realize that he really would go _actually_ crazy if this was what the rest of the summer looked like. 

“About Pala,” Charles said, during dinner. They were having leftover Chinese food that Hank had unearthed from his fridge. They determined that nothing smelled too rank and decided to give it a go. Charles was picking all the onions out of his fried noodles. Hank was doing the same with the green peppers; old habits really died hard. 

“Yeah?” Hank put down his chopsticks and fixed him with a wary look. 

“I think I’ll take you up on your invitation, after all. You don’t mind, do you?” 

_It’s not like I’m going to be able to keep an eye on him twenty-four-seven, anyway. He has his medication…_

“I’ll take care myself,” Charles said. “And maybe I’ll find something to add to my own research.” 

“Oh, that’s great,” said Hank. “I’ll be leaving next Thursday, and staying until the second week of September. If you want to return earlier, that can be arranged. Pack light. The temperature averages eighty-something.” 

“Ha, funny.” Having spent two years in lockdown, packing heavy wasn’t the only thing that changed. 

 

The first thing Charles noticed about Professor Daniel Shomron was that he’d gone white and his hairline had pushed back a couple of inches. He didn’t used to have white hair two years ago, and Charles was beginning to wonder if it was his fault. But the man seemed happy to see him, and all of his thoughts were just one collective happy hum. Charles was happy about that too, because it meant he didn’t have to listen to anything he wasn’t meant to. 

“Charles! Hello, fifty pounds thinner, but here you are, mostly.” Shomron ushered him in the room, “There’s a fresh pot of coffee in Gabrielle’s office, let me just --” 

“Twenty pounds, actually,” Charles corrected him with a vague smile. “But I’m not keeping track, and you know what they say about hospital food.” Maybe food in a mental facility was even worse, because half the crazies couldn’t complain about eating dreck. “I don’t want to be any trouble. I had coffee before I got here. I’m trying to take it easy.” 

“Nonsense,” said Shomron, and bustled out of his office anyway. 

Shomron returned a few moments later with two cups of coffee and got a bag of crackers from his desk. 

“So, Charles. How are you feeling?” 

“I am,” Charles had to pause pause a moment to think about it. He was running out of creative ways to answer that question, “well, I’ve been better. But I think everything is more manageable now.” 

“Are you on medication?” Shomron was asking out of sheer curiosity and nothing else, which was impressive in itself. 

“Yes, I feel like I have morning sickness. Or at least, some approximation of it.” 

Shomron made a face, “You might want to talk to Gabrielle about that.” 

“I would,” Charles smiled a vague half smile. “Doubt that it’d work, though.” He took a sip of coffee. Hank had a better brew, but now that his cousin had so much going for him, he was slowly learning the benefits of self-indulgence. “By the way, Hank invited me to go to Pala with him.” 

Without missing a beat, Shomron said, “Fascinating, I would go myself, but I’m teaching a few summer courses. You are, of course, planning on going? I think it would help your thesis immensely. In terms of perspective, I mean. Great ideas are not simply nurtured in a vacuum, are they?” 

Charles’s hand was suddenly shaking, and he had to put the cup back down before the coffee spilled. 

“All right?” 

“Yes, sorry,” Charles mustered a grin. “Not exactly a hundred percent yet. But yes, I’m planning on going to Pala. Leaving next Thursday.” 

“I’ll expect you to keep an excellent record of everything you see,” Shomron said, gesturing wildly with his hands. “Oh, and pack light. Save yourself some trouble.” 

 

“So what exactly are you going to be doing in Pala?” 

“Mostly I’m going to be doing stuff at the lab, generally. They’ve set one up, but...” Hank turned a page in his book and ripped off another post-it, scribbled something on it. “I don’t know. Whatever needs to be done, a lot of famous people are going to be there.”

_I don’t exactly have time to keep tabs on you._

“I never asked you to keep tabs on me,” Charles said. “I can hold my own.” 

Hank just stared at him, “I thought you couldn’t...” 

His temples were suddenly throbbing again, “I can’t. At least, most of the time. Sometimes it just,” Charles broke off abruptly. A smiling stewardess came by and asked him if he wanted orange juice. He took a glass, gulped it down. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not going to do that again.” Or he was, Hank was just not going to know about it. 

Their flight stopped in Dallas, where they bought coffee and read. A crying baby gave him a headache and a young couple having a blowout didn’t help much, either. Charles had to go hide in the men’s room for his pills because he didn’t want people staring. 

Flying made the headache much worse. But if Pala was all that the literature said it was, then Charles was going try to give the place a fair shake. 

“Charles,” Hank was shaking him. “You look a little green.”

“I feel fine,” Fine, as in Charles didn’t feel like being sick, but everywhere else on his body felt awful. He could hold his own, he’d said that. And he was. A little distraction didn’t hurt, “Have you ever been?” 

“To Pala? No, I’ve heard great things and probably have read all the literature.” 

“That’s just like you.” 

“Just learning from the best.” 

Charles rolled his eyes.

“Don’t lie to me, I know you’re at least halfway through.” Hank tapped the thick binder that Charles had in his lap. 

“More like three-fifths.” Charles liked to be thorough, it wasn’t like he was nitpicky. 

“I knew there was a reason you were my favorite,” Hank clapped him on the shoulder and laughed. Charles spared him a vague smile of his own. For a moment, things seemed like they were normal again. 

 

When they landed in LAX, it was a balmy eighty-three degrees. The weather, obtrusively sunny and _nice_ , was making Charles nauseous, but he was determined not to let it spoil the day for everyone else. The island wasn’t populated like Los Angeles was during rush hour. Deep breaths, also optimism, both of those things helped. Charles tried to remember that. 

A taxi took them to the Santa Monica Pier, where they met Alex Summers and his boat Havok. Alex informed them that the latest ferry had just left, but he was glad to boat them across for a reasonable fee. 

“That’s...an awful name for a boat,” said Hank, eying the vessel with some apprehension. “Where’d you even come up with that, anyway?” 

“Oh, relax,” Alex wiped his forehead with the edge of his shirt, leaving a sweat stain. “This boat knows its way around a storm. Hence the name. I didn’t even name it. And it doesn’t look like it will storm today.” He gestured, as if they could have missed the fact that there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. 

“Who named it?” Charles asked. 

“My little brother Scott, after some comic book character he came up with, or whatever.” Alex shrugged one shoulder. “Do either of you get seasick?” 

“I don’t know about getting seasick, but I’m probably going to get sick,” said Charles, taking Alex’s proffered hand and stepped into the boat. Better safe than sorry.

_Lame._

Charles supposed so, yes. It was lame. 

Alex tossed him a bucket, “Here, hold this.” After Hank settled in beside him, Alex turned on the engine, and Havok puttered slowly to life. “You on meds or something?” 

“Or something,” Charles agreed mildly, as he watched the port grow smaller and out of sight. The cacophonous noises that was buzzing at the back of his mind quietly faded away. Charles could get used to this. He didn’t like boats much, but he liked how calm the ocean was. 

They were about halfway there when Alex turned away from the ocean to focus on them, “I thought Pala wasn’t open for vacation yet.” 

“We look like we’re on vacation to you?” Hank peered at him curiously. They both had on t-shirts and khaki shorts. But surely there were days when personal comfort had to come first. So maybe they weren’t in the usual graduate student garb, but Charles was still balancing the binder with every article ever written about Pala, and Hank had been in the middle of hunting for a new stack of post-its. 

“Hey, people on vacation can be dorks too. Dorkdom doesn’t differentiate.” 

“We’re Harvard Ph.D candidates,” Hank said. Charles waited a moment for his cousin to correct himself. Technically, Charles wasn’t part of the academic elite anymore, but Hank had chosen not to differentiate either. He found himself strangely happy about that. 

“Huh.” Alex seemed to think this over, “Been getting a lot of those lately. I chartered a guy and his sister last week. Said his specialty was sharks, but he’s looking for a change of pace and he’s studying dolphin intelligence and communication blah blah whatever this summer.” 

“Fascinating,” Charles closed the binder. He half meant it. 

“I think it is,” Alex said. “He talked about it, sort of. What are you working on?” 

“...Me?” Charles had to pause a moment to collect his thoughts, “Genetic mutations and adaptations. On human beings. So I’m kind of here on vacation.” Or, as Professor Shomron put it, he was here for “perspective.” Whatever that meant, Charles wasn’t sure yet.

Alex wore a tired half-smirk, “Some vacation. I hope you have fun.”

 

Alex dropped them off in Pala, where they were shepherded to the island’s one hotel, still partially under renovations. Hank barely took the time to dump his things on the floor before he threw some things in a smaller bag before he bolted out the door. 

“Going to the lab, so only if it’s an emergency, okay? On second thought, that’s where the clinic is too, so if you need anything...” 

“Sure,” Charles half got the word out as the door closed. Spending most of the day on a plane did no favors for his migraines. They were bad enough they might as well be plural. And if it was an emergency, he’d probably end up at the clinic anyway.

His watch was beeping, maybe he should get something to eat first before taking his pills. He didn’t have any medical training, but common sense told Charles that he should be staying still. The incessant beep-beep from his watch just got louder. 

Charles fumbled to turn the alarm off. There was silence, but it wasn’t quiet. 

Someone was yelling, and each sharp word, each shrapnel of alien conscious, pounded hard into the side of his skull. The whole room was suffocating. Charles saw blinding white walls. The door. The door, if he could only get out of this room. 

Outside the room, there were too many footsteps, too many colors. There was panic, frustration. 

Where did I fucking put my suitcase? God damn it! Hopefully the room has air conditioner. What’s that guy doing? He better not have some kind of tropical flu, that’s so bad for business.

Charles’ head hit something hard. Someone might have screamed.

But oh, at last there was blissful silence. He lay still, and closed his eyes.

\--

_Oh, my God. Is he dying? I hope he’s not dying. I’m not good with people who are --_

Charles forced one eye open. There was a blurry outline of a young woman sitting in the vacant chair beside the bed. The walls were white, too bright. He had to close his eyes again.

“I’m not dying.” 

_Thank God. He’s alive._

She was shaking him, probably, “Hey. Hey, open your eyes. Stay with me.” 

_He’s so handsome. I’d give anything to be like that._

Charles opened his eyes again, “Hey, did you...did you find pill bottles in my pockets?” 

She gestured, “There’s a bunch of bottles over there. Look, are you some kind of drug addict? Because if you are --” 

_I shouldn’t...I shouldn’t have helped him. What the hell did I just do? Raven, you always have to go and be such an **idiot**. Erik isn’t going to want to bail you out every time --_

“Please calm down and don’t think so much,” Charles told her, pressing a hand to his throbbing temples. “You’re giving me a headache. Do you think I could have some water?” He tried to sit up, and his spine cracked suspiciously in several places, but none of it sounded or felt fatal. Charles managed to stumble over to the other table, using the wall for support. “I’m...I’m not a drug addict.”

The girl went for some water. But a moment later, it was Hank who poked his head in, “I heard they brought in somebody who fainted at the hotel.” When he double checked to make sure it was Charles, he heaved a sigh. 

“Charles, I thought this was under control. Your doctors said it was under control.” 

“And it is under control,” Charles looked away from him. “Honestly. Go and do what you have to do. It’s just the boat and the plane and the heat...I’m fine.” 

Hank said, “We’re talking about this later, Charles.” 

Of course they were. Charles was older, but under Hank’s scrutinizing gaze, he felt ten-years-old. Maybe even less than that. 

The girl returned with a plastic cup, “That’s all yours?” 

“It’s all prescribed,” Charles took the cup from her and began to pry open all the bottles. After he swallowed all nine pills, he started towards the door. 

“You can’t leave,” Raven hurried to block his way. “A doctor has to come look you over. I’ll get one.” 

“I feel fine.” 

“That’s what everyone says,” Raven said. 

Pala wasn’t that big, nor did Charles really know his way around Pala. He could guess his way back to the hotel, but that was just being obvious. 

“Then get Hank McCoy. Doctor -- Dr. McCoy just started work here today, shouldn’t be too hard to miss.” Usually, if he concentrated, these kinds of things worked. He waited.

“Just a minute.” 

It worked. Charles’ knees shook so badly he had to sit down. The mattress was too thin and felt brick hard. Why hadn’t he noticed that before? 

Raven returned with Hank, who looked less than amused, “Charles. The answer’s no.” 

“I’m okay now. I’m taken what I’m supposed to. Just give me the okay so I can get out of here.” 

“I’m not even a licensed physician. Don’t be ridiculous.” _Have you lost your mind?_ That thought was loud; Charles was probably meant to hear it. 

Charles gestured to the young woman who was standing very still, almost too still. “Raven thinks you are.” 

Raven said, “He needs a doctor to okay things before he leaves.” 

“Charles, what did you do to --” Hank’s eyes darkened. “I can send you back to the Stryker Institute, you know. And I can make calls and tell MacTaggert never to let you out. Charles, you’re not making this easy for me.” 

“Hank.” 

Hank touched a hand to his glasses, “Go back to the hotel. Stay there, get some sleep. We’ll talk about this later.” 

 

Charles missed the white walls, and the silence. 

He liked that the walls weren’t just white here in the hotel room, but the wallpaper seemed to be moving, and things weren’t quiet. He didn’t answer to Hank; Charles Xavier didn’t answer to anyone, but he knew he was making things difficult and doing no one any favors. That wasn’t his fault, no one else understood. At least Hank was trying, and it was not Hank’s fault, either. 

At last, Charles compromised. He took a brief nap, and then checked his watch. Three more hours until the medication wore off. Presumably, Hank was not going to return until later. If he spent two hours wandering around, no one was ever going to know. Besides, he really needed to get out of here. 

Before Charles could talk himself out of it, he left the hotel room and walked a block or two until he came onto a fledgling high street, featuring small busy shops and cafes with plenty of outdoor seating. 

“Something to drink?” 

Charles blinked, “Sorry?” 

The server’s nametag read Janos, “I was wondering if you would like something to drink, sir.” 

“Just an ice tea, thanks.” 

The cafe was about half full, filled with people like himself. All young, most brilliant. Except they weren’t like him at all. They were just young people with bright futures, who didn’t know how lucky they were. 

His fork was shaking, but Charles wasn’t touching his fork. Then it stopped shaking. He picked the fork up, then he put it down. The fork stayed still. 

“Good afternoon, Erik!” said another server read Armando, who walked past him to greet the newest guest. “Your usual? Have a seat anywhere. I’ll be right with you.” 

“I still don’t understand why you’d want to wait tables,” said the man called Erik, as he strode to the table next to Charles’s and took a seat. 

“You underestimate me, I make most of my best observations serving sandwiches.” 

Over the top of his menu, Charles studied Erik. He was wearing a t-shirt that said Pala Marine Research Center on it in large blue lettering. He had a clean face, but such cleanliness possibly hard won because Charles could see that the man had nicked himself shaving recently. 

Erik looked up from his napkin, and Charles looked away. His fork gave a little twitch. 

“You know what I don’t understand? How you can go from sharks to dolphins.” Armando had returned, he set down in front of Erik a can of beer, and a sandwich. 

“Dolphins are fascinating creatures in their own right. Besides, I like working so closely with them. Emma’s getting spoiled from so much attention.” 

“From you?” _Yeah, right._

Charles supposed Armando’s skepticism made sense, he’d only eavesdropped on not even half a conversation, but he already had problems seeing this Erik as an affectionate person. 

“No, not from me. We’ve had a lot of visitors over at the center. And Raven’s over there a lot, too.” 

Raven. The same Raven from the clinic? It had to be her. There couldn’t be that many Ravens on one newly founded island. 

“Here’s your ice tea, sir.” 

Charles took a long sip. It was cold and tart, just the way he liked it. 

 

Half an hour later, Charles finished his ice tea. He paid, and walked over to Erik’s table, “Pardon me, I overheard that you knew Raven. Do you know if she’s usually at the clinic right now?” 

“It depends,” said Erik, wiping his fingers on his napkin. “Why do you want to know?” 

“I...” Charles trailed off. Might have mind-controlled her several hours ago was completely not a viable option. Why it had even come to mind, he didn’t know. “I wanted to thank her. She brought me to the clinic when I fainted.” 

Erik gave him a long look. He is telling the truth. _With a face like that, he can’t possibly tell a lie_. “...In that case, she usually spends some time with me over at the Research Center. It is not far. Would you like to walk with me?” 

“Sure.” 

Charles waited until Erik paid, then followed the man outside. They walked a few minutes without saying anything, until Charles broke the quiet again. 

“You’re the marine biologist who used to study sharks, aren’t you?” 

Erik laughed, his laugh left a warm spot deep in Charles’ chest, “I have no idea I’m that famous already. Yes, I used to study sharks.” 

“I doubt that,” said Charles. “I just...know things.” 

“All of us do, some more than others,” Erik stopped a moment, and held out his hand. “Erik Lehnsherr.” 

“Charles Xavier,” said Charles. 

“And what do you study, Charles?” 

“Erm,” Charles stuck his hand in his pockets. “Genetic mutation and adaptation. I’m mostly here for perspective, and perhaps the beach.” 

Erik looked him over once, “...You look like you need the beach more than perspective.” 

That made him smile, only a little.

“I hate the beach,” Charles admitted. “I burn easily.” 

“Is that so?” 

He shrugged, “I suppose.” 

A few more minutes after that, Erik led him around a street corner, and Charles saw an impressive building about four stories tall with a sign proclaiming _Pala Marine Research Center_. “Have you been around the island?” 

“Not yet,” said Charles. “But then again, I don’t think this place is too keen on guided tours. Everyone seems to have better things to do.” 

Erik held up a card key to one of the sensors, and the door beeped open. Instantly, Charles felt a gust of wind hit his face. It was so much cooler inside. He was reminded of his first trip to the aquarium. He and Hank had wowed most of the tour guides stationed next to their exhibits. Sharon had been so proud of both of them that she bought them both horribly out of place Einstein wigs at the gift shop. 

“Erik,” a freckled redhead teenager walked up to them. “Back so soon?” 

“Just lunch, Sean.” said Erik, “If you see Raven, can you send her by the dolphin pen?” 

“I can do that,” Sean said, and promptly wandered away again. 

“That’s Sean Cassidy,” said Erik. “One of our high school interns. Promising, provided you can find him at the right time.” 

“I see.” 

Then Erik paused again, “By the way. Are you from Harvard? Dr. Shomron supervised your work, didn’t he?” 

“Yes,” said Charles, frowning a little. “How did you know?” 

“We’ve met. I interned for him one summer in Poland.” _So it is him. I thought so._

“It’s who?” Charles said without thinking. He suddenly had to fight the urge to bolt. 

Erik fixed him with an even gaze, “Excuse me?” 

“Sorry, I thought you said --” Charles shook his head. “Never mind. I didn’t say anything. Never mind.” 

“All right. The dolphin pen is this way.” 

They had to go down a few flights of winding steps, before they stepped outside, where Charles spotted a pool. There were two dolphins lulling about, chirping lazily at each other. 

_Tired._

Charles looked towards Erik again. Erik was tired? He didn’t look tired. 

_Too hot_. That Charles could agree with. 

One of the dolphins swam to the side of the pool where they were. Erik slipped off his sandals and lowered himself into the pool. “Hello Emma, Azazel. You’ve already had too many visitors this week, but I brought someone. Say hello to Charles.” 

_Hello. Charles_. 

Maybe Charles was coming down with hyperthermia. With all this heat, it was the only solution that made sense. Sometimes, too much heat induced hallucinations, or voices. 

“Can I sit down?” Charles called to Erik in the pool.

“Help yourself.” 

He couldn’t find a chair nearby, so he did what Erik had done and slipped off his shoes. The water felt cool around his feet. 

_Don’t be afraid. One of the dolphins_ \-- Emma, swam by and touched his ankles. Charles almost cringed. 

It wasn’t so much fear. When Charles had sensed Hank and Cain the first time, after coming back home from university, he’d locked himself in his bedroom for a week. And then he’d shaken so much that he could barely stand every time he saw either of them. That was fear. This was -- they were _dolphins_. Charles had enough problems with normal people already. He didn’t need to be telepathic with dolphins too. He didn’t have time for that. 

Charles stared at her, _I’m not afraid._

What else would you be, if not afraid?

Erik swam over and rested his elbow on the side of the pool, “You must have a way with them. It’s the first time I’ve seen Emma so taken with anyone.” 

“I’m a geneticist. I just stare at mutated cells all day.” Or, he had been. More recently, it’d been the walls. Charles could still close his eyes and see them. “If that’s the definition you’re going by, well.” 

Emma popped her head out of the water and stared hard at him. 

_I know._

Charles looked away.

“Erik?” There were light footsteps. Charles was glad for the distraction, and he turned and saw Raven. “Sean said you wanted to see me down here about -- oh.” 

Charles quickly got to his feet, “Hello. You may have saved my life earlier, but I don’t think we’ve met properly.”

“You’re...” Raven took a step back. “You disappeared from the clinic.” 

Erik said, “You disappeared from the clinic?” 

“No!” Charles shook his head. “I didn’t disappear from anywhere. I just. I went back to the hotel.” 

“Hank told me he wasn’t a licensed doctor.” 

Charles was feeling lightheaded, he had to sit down again. One of Erik’s hands came up to grip his elbow. He wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a threat or not, but he found it comforting. 

“Which is just as well, I wasn’t sick.” 

“You fainted in the hallway. A dozen of people saw!” 

“Raven,” said Erik. At the sound of his voice, she quieted down at once. “Charles wants to thank you. Can’t you just let him thank you? You don’t have to be so up in arms.” 

Raven opened her mouth and closed it, “Oh.” 

“Thank you for earlier. I’m sorry if I scared you with those pills. But I needed -- I mean, I need them.” He didn’t elaborate, she knew what she saw. Also, it was dangerous to say too much in front of Erik, though Raven might tell her brother everything anyway. Charles was fighting a losing battle. 

Erik let go of his elbow. 

“You’re...you’re welcome, I guess.” Raven was picking at her cotton shorts, “I mean, you’re welcome.” _I guess he is sort of a nice guy, after all._

Charles got to his feet, shakily. “I think I’d better go. It was nice to meet both of you. Properly. When I meet people, I’m usually at the center of everyone’s attention.” 

Erik said, “Come by and see Emma again sometime. She seems to like you.”

 

Charles only took one wrong turn trying to get back to the hotel, but any hope of fooling Hank was gone, when he realized that his cousin was already in the room poring over more post-its. 

Hank looked up at him. He looked as old as Charles felt. 

“What’s gotten into you? I thought they let you out for good behavior. I asked you to do one thing. Which was _stay here_.” 

“I wasn’t convicted of anything,” Charles set his jaw stubbornly. “You of all people should know. You were there.” 

Hank turned away from his post-its. _Aunt Sharon might not like you, but she defended you from Kurt. And you know that your argument isn’t fair. I was there. I forgave you too._

“Don’t bring my mother into this,” Charles snapped. 

“Then you get the fuck out of my head.” Hank shot right back.

Out of the twenty-two years he’d known Hank McCoy, Charles had never known his cousin to swear. Twenty-two, allowing for the years that Hank didn’t have consciousness of thought. For a moment, Charles just stared. 

His watch went off.

Charles went to fetch his bottles. “Hank.” 

Hank inhaled deeply, and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “Charles. You are my best friend. I’ve always wanted to be like you. But don’t do this. People’s thoughts aren’t meant to be heard. And other people’s minds aren’t your playthings. Maybe we have to research a different blends of neuro blockers...” 

“You’re afraid of me.” 

Hank said, “Well, yeah. You should be afraid too. Raven from this morning. You just -- what if you permanently damage something? Fried her synapses? You can’t be responsible for something you don’t understand. But you are. You do stuff like that.” 

“I went to see her. That’s where I was. I met her brother Erik, She looked fine.” 

“But what if she wasn’t? You don’t know that she’s completely fine. You’re not licensed, either. You have no way of knowing.” 

Charles tossed the paper cup into the nearest trash bin, “I’ve already been willingly institutionalized, what more do you want me to do?” 

“I --” Hank looked away from him. “...Charles, don’t you remember how normal things used to be?” 

“I wasn’t able to read minds or make people do weird things when things were normal, I’m sorry.” The dolphins actually weren’t making things that much worse, now that Charles calmed down enough to think about it. It wasn’t as if he had to go out of his way to avoid dolphins. All he had to do was not go back to the research center.

“I didn’t mean that, I meant.” _I don’t even know you anymore._ “I’m sorry.” 

Charles said, “You’re not the only one.” 

Hank looked like he’d wanted to say something, but there was no use prolonging a conversation that was already long over. Finally, he stood up, “I need some air. -- Please don’t follow me.” 

The door closed quietly. 

 

The next few days, Charles avoided Hank. It was surprisingly easy, even though they lived in the same room. One of the good things about Hank McCoy was that he was bound by routine, by the confines of _normal_ , everything had its time and place. All Charles had to do was not been in the room around three o’ clock, when his cousin came back for a change of clothes and a shower. The heat was smoldering. 

“Hey, look, it’s mutant guy.” 

“...Mutant guy?” 

Alex Summers smirked lazily at him, “You study mutants, don’t you?” 

“Mutations, genetic ones,” said Charles. Even though he said the word slowly, separating the syllables neatly one by one, he doubted Alex was going to understand the difference. 

“You should still be mutant guy. That way you sound like you can save the world. Mutations guy just makes you sound a bit...” Alex took a long drag from his cigarette and walked over to him. “Deranged or crazy? Anyway, can I help you?” 

“I was hoping to hire you. If you’re not busy.” 

Alex grinned and held out his hand, “Hundred bucks, and I’m all yours until three. Do you need me to get a bucket?” 

“I think I’m fine,” besides, he didn’t think that Alex Summers was a guy with any deep dark, potentially migraine-inducing secrets. Charles handed over five twenties and caught the life vest that was tossed his way. 

When they were a little ways into the ocean, Charles spoke again. 

“Why am I mutant guy?” 

“It’s how I keep track of all of you,” Alex shrugged. “I’m not good with names. Besides, I get to go home and tell Scott about all of you. It’s so much interesting for an eight year-old if you say something like ‘Mutant guy and his friend -- you never told me what your friend studied.” 

“Hank studies tropical disease prevention,” said Charles. ‘Tropical disease prevention guy’ seemed like an unwieldy moniker. 

“...Oh,” Alex made a sound in his throat. “Maybe just mutant guy and his friend, then. Scott had lots of fun with the shark guy, though. Gave him fin-fingers and everything.” 

Shark guy. “You mean Erik?” 

“That’s his name? O-kay then.” Alex took a moment to think this over, and shrugged. “So, aren’t you supposed to working?” 

“I’m on probation,” said Charles. That was more or less true.

“Never would have figured you for one of those. Good job.” 

“Yes well,” Charles turned his focus away from Alex to gaze into the blue-green-gray sea around them. “I’ve been told that before.” 

 

Mostly, it was morbid curiosity that brought Charles back to the dolphin pen. Perhaps it’d been an unfortunate mind trick last time, something that had leaked over from his bad mood, but when he finally found his way down the stairs, the small pool was empty. Maybe he was not crazy. 

“Emma and Azazel aren’t here right now. We had to let them out for some exercise.” 

Charles only flinched a little when he heard Erik’s voice. He turned and saw the man walking towards him holding a pail of what looked like fish. 

_I’m surprised he came back._

The thought stung a little, as if Erik already knew why Charles was here, but he couldn’t know. “Why?” 

“We study them, we don’t imprison them here.” Erik set down the bucket, “but I am surprised to see you.” 

“I know,” said Charles without thinking. “I mean, I know that you don’t imprison them. (For a moment, he saw white walls.) ” Then he had to keep talking, because he didn’t want Erik to ask questions. “I know you’re not like that.” 

Erik just looked at him. 

Well, if Erik accused him of being crazy, then Charles could always accuse him of moving metal without touching it. Of course, that sounded outright insane, but -- but he’d seen it. He sometimes heard voices he shouldn’t, but Charles Xavier was not blind. 

_He suspects me already. Shomron did say he was a quick study._

“But you don’t know me at all, Charles.” Erik said. _Not yet, anyway._

“I --” He could know everything, if he tried. Charles looked away. He needed to stop thinking about this before his head started hurting again. His nerves were already starting to prickle, and that was never a good sign. “How do you make sure they come back?”

“Sean built a machine relying on sonar and echolocation to help us communicate with them; it’s a working theory that they respond to certain frequencies. The machine’s scheduled to tour aquariums around the world once we’re done here this summer.” Erik shook his head, “I personally think it could do with some renaming.” 

“What’s he calling it, then?”

“He’s calling it Banshee, the rest of us sane ones are calling it...” Erik had to pause a moment. “I’ve always just called it Sean’s machine.” He ended that with a shrug. 

Charles opened his mouth, to say that Sean was not crazy, but he could not give himself away more than he already had. He realized, that his fists were clenched tight, and he quickly unclenched them. 

“Original.” 

“Marine biologists aren’t taught to be original.” Erik’s mouth twitched. “You could say that about most scientists.” 

That was a very good point. 

“...Then, how do you make sure that it’s always Emma and Azazel that come back? There has to be other dolphins around here, certainly?” 

“It’s always Emma and Azazel who answer Sean,” Erik shrugged. “We have no idea why that’s happening.” 

Charles felt a sharp pang in his head, and staggered backwards, he suddenly felt lightheaded, and didn’t know why. Someone was holding him in place, but he kept his eyes shut until the world around him stilled. 

Erik’s voice sounded far away, “ -- Charles?” 

“Emma and Azazel are curious about this place. That’s why, that’s why they keep coming back.” 

Erik let go of his shoulders. It was only after he let go, that Charles noticed how hard Erik had been clutching. 

“Charles, are you all right?” 

Charles nodded, “Thanks to you. I didn’t fall.” 

“That’s not what I meant. You said Emma and Azazel are curious about this place. They keep coming back. How...how did you know that?” 

His lungs were closing up. Charles had to remember to breathe. Deeply. Inhale. Exhale. Just. Breathe.

“Charles, answer me.” 

The pail of fish had tipped over, but neither of them had touched it. Erik could have knocked it over accidentally with his foot, but Charles knew otherwise. He saw. This wasn’t the sort of mistake that could be made twice. 

“Hey, Erik!” Sean was bounding up to them dressed in a wetsuit. “I’m going to hook up Banshee now, okay? It’s almost time.” 

Erik turned away from him, “Go ahead. Open the gate too, while you’re at it.” 

“Sure,” Sean spared Charles a wide grin. “Charles, right?” 

“...Yes.” 

Sean dove in, and then when he got to the gate, he surfaced again. Confusion clouded his face, “Um, Erik?” 

“What?” 

“Emma and Azazel are here already. Outside the gate. What’s going on?” 

“No one touched your machine, I don’t...” Erik turned his head to face Charles again. “You called them here Charles. You called Emma and Azazel.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Charles said, and then his watch went off. 

“Yes, you do.” 

“No, no I don’t. I couldn’t have. I have to go, anyway.” He made a quick beeline for the stairs. 

 

Charles went back to the hotel and swallowed his pills without counting them the way he usually did. He wasn’t going anywhere for the rest of the day; he’d stay put. That way, there was no way he could accidentally read someone’s mind, or summon dolphins from the wider sea. He wanted to go back to his four white walls. Things were less complicated there. 

He wrote an e-mail to Professor Shomron, and asked about Erik Lehnsherr. Then he thought about calling his mother. Didn’t. 

Hank returned around seven, and seemed surprised to see him, but he looked exhausted. 

Charles said, “I was thinking about calling room service. If you want anything.” 

Hank threw himself on the bed, “That would be great. Wake me up when the food gets here?” 

“Sure, but --” 

Hank was already asleep. Charles called the desk and ordered pasta, without any green peppers for Hank, and without onions for himself. He also ordered a bottle of pinot noir. The service was prompt, and the food was warm. He made a note to leave a generous tip.

After he roused Hank again, his cousin gestured skeptically at the wine, “Wouldn’t drinking increase side-effects?” 

“I’m not actually pregnant, remember?” 

“You get really bad headaches, remember?” 

Charles heaved a sigh. He poured a full glass, and handed it over. “Half a glass. Besides, it only says ‘avoid alcohol.’” 

“I’m just worried about you.” Someone has to be. 

That stung, but Charles just raised his own glass to his lips. The wine was sour-sweet. “I know, and I appreciate your concern, Hank. But I’m here now. I haven’t relapsed --” (Not yet, anyway. There wasn’t exactly anyone like Cain Marko on Pala, so maybe Charles had reason to feel hopeful.) “and I haven’t fainted. I’ve only fainted once.” 

“I’ve never fainted,” Hank reminded him. 

“That’s not the point, and you know it.” Perhaps this was routine, too. “Let’s stop this, Hank.” 

Hank’s expression hardened, then relaxed. “This place though, it’s pretty great. I mean, I haven’t been able to see much, but I’ll get Friday off.” 

“I’ve just seen the Marine Research Center. Met their dolphins.” 

“Oh?” 

“It was interesting,” ‘Interesting’ was a convenient word. It was a time that elaborated on its own without much else. Talking dolphins were definitely interesting. 

“There’s a large botanical garden they’re cultivating on the other side of the island,” said Hank, reaching to rummage through some of the brochures that the hotel provided. “...It’s either a two hour bike-ride each way, or we can charter a helicopter. Or we can hire Alex.” 

“I’m not spending four hours on a bicycle, not even for you.” Charles said flatly, “you’re insane.”

Hank took a minute, then he said, “Ha.” 

A knock sounded on their door. Charles called out, “We’re not done eating. Come back in fifteen.” 

Erik’s voice on the other side of their door, said, “I’m not room service, Charles.” 

Charles immediately stiffened, “I’m not here.” 

Hank said, “You just told room service to go away. Of course you’re here.” 

“I don’t want to talk to him, go tell him to go away Tell him...tell him I’m not feeling well. I’ve a splitting headache.” 

“You’re sitting here sipping pinot noir. You can’t have a headache. Charles, be reasonable.” 

The knocking started up again, “I’m not deaf, you know. I can hear both of you.” 

“Erik, please go away.” 

“I just want to speak to you. Not anything else.” 

“Just go talk to him. What does he want, anyway?” said Hank. 

Charles swallowed the rest of his wine in one vicious gulp, and went to the door. “I. Really have a headache. Now’s not a good time, Erik. If you’ll excuse me --” 

_I know you’re lying. And you know that I know._

“I’m not lying,” Charles insisted. 

Erik just stood very still, “I never said you were. I didn’t say anything.” 

Hank was suddenly on alert. He scrambled to the doorway and put a hand on Charles’ arm, “Go and lie down. And you, I think you should leave.” 

_I know. I know about you. I am like you. If you come with me. I will show you._

The thought came to him, gentle and warm. For the first time, maybe Charles wasn’t crazy. Erik’s mouth hadn’t moved. Hank hadn’t acted like he heard anything, either. 

_Erik, you. You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t._

“Charles, please come with me.” 

Hank’s grip tightened on his arm, “Charles, don’t do anything stupid.” 

_You are not alone. You never have been._

Gently, he broke Hank’s grip on his arm, “I know what I’m doing, Hank. I have to go.” 

“Charles --” 

“Trust me,” Charles said softly. “Please, you’ve always trusted me, Hank.” 

_I trusted you two years ago. You got yourself locked up. Don’t do this._ Out loud, Hank said, “I’m calling Dr. MacTaggert tomorrow. You can’t stop me. It’s for your own good.” 

“You will do _no such thing_ , Hank.” It felt like a thousand pins had lodged in Charles’ skull. Erik was holding him up. He must have been, otherwise he would have collapsed on his knees. 

Hank said, “Don’t be gone too long.” Then he closed the door, leaving the two of them in the hallway. The elevator at one end of the hall dinged. The ringing made his head hurt.

Charles clutched his face in his hands, “What did I just do?” He was going to be sick. 

“I don’t know who MacTaggert is, but I’m sure Hank will not be calling him tomorrow. You changed his mind,” Erik said calmly, as if he’d just witnessed something mundane, like a long predicted storm. 

“I didn’t want to! Erik, you don’t know.” Charles stepped away from him. “Do you read minds?” Then it made sense, “That was you.” 

Erik looked at him, “That was me what?” 

“You read my mind, you made me do -- whatever it is I did to Hank. I would never do that to Hank.” It’s all your fault. Charles hastily fumbled for his room key, only to realize that he’d left the room in such a hurry, he’d forgotten it. Of course it was easy to knock on the door, tell Hank to let him back in, but Charles could not face Hank. Not with what he had just done.

“I can’t read minds, Charles.” Erik told him, but he stayed where he was. “But I can do so many other things. Let me show you.” Let me show you everything you could be. You won’t be alone anymore.

 

Alex Summers was drunk. He was thinking about the leggy barista currently serving him his fourth margarita. If she’d scream when they had sex. He was really looking forward to having sex with her. Charles knew that. 

Erik didn’t. Which explained why he stalked up to Alex and took the empty stool next to him, “How much metal’s in your boat? Why?” 

Alex just cocked his head curiously at him, “You’re out of your mind, shark guy. Anyway, I’m off until tomorrow. The hull’s metal -- steel.” 

The girl behind the bar gave Erik her best smile, “And what can I get you to start, sweetie?” (‘Sweetie’ would be the last thing that Charles would choose to call Erik, but she -- Angel, was only following a script. She hated her job. It just paid for school.)

“I’m not here for a drink,” Erik said. “Look, Alex, just lend me Havok for one hour. Consider the rest of your drinks tonight on me.” 

Alex didn’t care so much about free drinks; he just wanted the two of them to go away so he could get laid properly. “If the boat’s not back where it’s supposed to by morning, I’m going to kill you. Both of you.” He wasn’t that drunk, he’d known that Charles was standing there too. 

“Or you could try,” Erik smirked. 

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Alex glared hazily at them.

“Nothing,” Erik said. “Come on, Charles.” 

Alex was fumbling with a keychain with several keys on it, “Hey! Don’t you need keys?” 

“Keep them,” said Erik, taking Charles firmly by the arm. “You’ll need them tomorrow. I’ll put her back I promise.” 

Outside, Charles said, “You’re stealing Alex’s boat?” 

“Didn’t you hear me? I said I only wanted to borrow Havok for an hour, That’s hardly stealing.” Erik was making his way towards the docks, and Charles had to quicken his steps to catch up. Not for the first time, Charles wondered if he’d made a grave mistake.

“Alex didn’t seem sober,” Charles said. “You could still be held legally responsible. Especially if something happens to the boat.” 

“I have good lawyers on my side,” said Erik. “And nothing is going to happen to the boat.” 

“That’s not funny. No, really, it isn’t.” 

But Erik didn’t say anything else after that, and Charles lost the will to argue. They came to the boats, and Erik was trying to untie Havok when two men in uniform approached them with flashlights. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Charles,” Erik gave him a pointed glance.

His head felt undeniably heavy, “We’re just going out for a little while. Alex asked us to. We’re not anyone suspicious.” 

One of the men nodded, “Careful out there.” 

“We will.” 

Once the men were out of sight, Charles heaved a deep breath. Erik was already in the boat. “I can’t believe I let you do that. You’ve just made me an accessory to robbery.” 

“I’m guessing you’ve never passed the bar,” Erik rolled his eyes. “If you want to get technical, I’ve made you an accessory to larceny.” 

“You know what I mean,” Charles glared at him. “Get out of the boat before I make you.” His head was already spinning, but he could foresee dire consequences. 

“It’s much harder to get inside someone’s head once they know you’re a telepath,” Erik said. “I think it’s got something to do with conscious awareness. Not that I do that sort of thing.”

“Hank knows about me,” said Charles. _Telepath_ , he knew that word. It was a word that only existed in farfetched science fiction. Such a word wasn’t supposed to exist in the real world.

“Yes, but Hank thinks you’re crazy. That’s different.” Erik shrugged, “Come on. Don’t split hairs.” 

Charles took Erik’s proffered hand and stepped into Alex’s boat. The boat rocked unsteadily, but then it was still again. 

And just as slowly, they were floating away from Pala. Charles had to wonder if he’d just been kidnapped. 

“How are you doing this without a key?” 

“The hull is steel. As long as the majority of something is metal, I can move it,” said Erik. It probably wasn’t the first time he’d given this explanation. He sounded much too comfortable.

Do you have a headache? 

“I --” _I always have a headache. I don’t remember the last time something wasn’t crammed into my head._ Charles stood up and walked to the edge of the boat and looked down at the sea, now black gray blue. He still liked these colors better than white. _Who else knows?_

 _About me knowing how to use metal? Raven, Sean. Shomron. Others, back home._ Erik wasn’t looking at him.

 _I’m surprised the government hasn’t come after you yet._ The thought not only sounded bitter, it was bitter. 

“That sounded like it was from experience.” 

“So what if it was?” 

“So nothing,” Erik said. He stopped the boat. 

Charles swallowed a nervous gulp of air. His throat hurt, “Why’d we stop?” 

“I’ve shown you mine, now you show me yours.” 

_I have been showing you mine,_ Charles thought irritably. He wasn’t particularly proud of any of it, either. 

“That’s not what I meant. Call them. Call Emma.” 

“I didn’t call Emma earlier,” Charles shook his head stubbornly. “I can only do this with people.” 

“Dolphins are significantly less guarded than people. If something in your brain is letting you bypass a human being’s natural physiological defenses, communication with dolphins should be easy. Dolphins don’t have language as we know it, they don’t have a way to lie to themselves the way we lesser men are used to.” 

“Next thing you know,” Charles rubbed his throbbing temples. “You’ll be telling me I can talk to dogs or something.” 

“I don’t think it’s quite like that. Emma reached out to you first. Not all animals take to humans.” 

Charles hated the fact that he was running out of excuses. He was a man who was grounded firmly in science and logic, and none of this was making any sense. “I’m on medication.” That was his last defense. And it would have been a pretty good one too, if Erik Lehnsherr had been someone else. 

Erik put a hand on his shoulder, “After Hank, and dock security, the fact that you are has nothing to do with any of this. Call her.” 

Charles closed his eyes. There was a sharp stab of pain, but an even sharper stab of clarity after that. In his mind’s eye, he saw Emma gliding effortlessly through water. She was by herself, Azazel was not with her. 

“She’s coming.” 

A moment later, there was a familiar chirp-chirp, and Emma poked her head out of the water and looked at him. 

_You call. I come. Afraid?_

Charles inhaled deeply, I don’t know. Yes. Very.

“What’s she saying to you?” 

“That she’s glad to see us.” Which was implied, it wasn’t like he was lying. 

Emma swam two slow circles around the boat, and then she was gone with a final splash of her tail. When she had gone, the pain in his head was back in full force. Charles had to sit down. 

“Take me back to the island.” 

Erik said, “Charles, I just wanted to show you.” 

“Please take me back to the island.” He was seeing blindingly white walls, and hearing strange wails that haunted him long after they were gone. Charles wasn’t a telepath, he was just crazy. “Please, Erik. I’m going to be sick.” 

Erik tossed him the now familiar bucket, and Charles held it tight to his chest trying not to throw up. The voices stopped. He closed his eyes. 

 

“I’m walking you back to your room,” said Erik, once he’d tied up Havok properly again in its rightful place. 

“No, you’re not.” Charles was swaying dangerously on his feet. “I’ll just be going.” 

“Charles, don’t be ridiculous. You’re not even walking straight.” Before he could get very far, Erik’s fingers had clamped down in his wrist like an unforgiving iron cast. 

Of course he wasn’t. The fact that Charles could walk at all surprised him. The pounding in his head was blinding, but he knew he couldn’t be near Erik. Erik, who knew nothing about what it was like. What if Erik wasn’t real? What if Charles dreamed him up because he desperately wanted to be sane? That had happened once at the Institute, and they’d put him in a medical coma for a whole two days. Or, that was what he was told.

“Of course I’m. Of course I don’t make any sense! I’m insane.” Charles stumbled away from him. “You may have missed that. I’m telling you. I don’t even know if you’re real. You’re telling me that I’m a telepath. Am I supposed to just believe you?” 

“No, I never expected you to believe me,” said Erik. There were lines on his face that Charles hadn’t noticed before. “But I’m real. If I were an illusion,” he took both of Charles’ hands and held them tight. “If I were your illusion, make me go away.” 

“ -- I can’t.” Erik was standing close enough so that Charles could smell him. Him, and the bitter tang of sea salt. 

“Charles, listen to me. You’re not crazy. Neither of us are crazy.” 

“I _talked_ to Emma. She’s a dolphin.” It certainly sounded crazy. “Let go of me.” 

“You were sick on the boat,” Erik reminded him quietly. “Charles, don’t argue. Let me take you back to your room.” 

_I didn’t want my life to be like this._

_I know._

It was hard to glare at someone when his vision was blurring at the edges, but Charles gave it best shot anyway. Erik’s mouth might have twitched.

“Stop saying that. Because you don’t. You’ve never had voices inside your head.” _All you have to do is not move metal._

Erik came to an abrupt stop, and Charles almost tripped, but the other man grabbed him before he could fall. 

“...Erik?” 

Suddenly, Charles saw it. He saw a young teenage-boy in half-charred clothing screaming at a crushed car, and there were bits of metal flying everywhere. The boy screamed in a language that Charles knew, but did not understand save for one word -- 

_Mother._

Oh.

Somewhere, far away, Charles heard someone calling his name, but he didn’t hear. He was more fixated on the boy’s face, twisted in pained sorrow too heavy for one so young. 

_Charles, Charles. Stay with me --_

 

When he came to, Charles saw white walls, but they weren’t the same kind of walls. Maybe his skull was cracked, that was why, that was why it hurt. He was not one for complaining, but the first word out of his mouth was, “It hurts.”

“You’re on new medication,” It was Hank who was sitting in the chair next to the bed. “I called MacTaggert. We somehow managed to come up with a new regimen for you.” 

Charles had had a rough night. From the looks of it, so had Hank. Judging by the light spilling in the window, it had to sometime in the morning, or the afternoon. 

He distinctly remembered telling (if that was the word for it) his cousin not to call Moira, and yet Hank had. But then, he remembered that Hank had threatened to have him re-committed, but Charles was still here in Pala. 

“Oh. What...what happened to me?” He remembered standing in a street, as a boy screamed for his mother in Polish. That was it, Polish. 

“You fainted,” said Hank, rubbing at his eyes. “Erik brought you here, and then he called me. Charles, what happened last night?” 

“Dolphins,” said Charles groggily. He closed his eyes and saw Emma. Emma in the ocean, leaping majestically towards the sky. Maybe she was laughing at him.

“...Dolphins,” Hank repeated blankly. “What about them? Charles, Charles open your eyes.” 

Charles did, with some effort. Hank was asking him about the dolphins, but he couldn’t tell him. It didn’t make any sense, and it would take too long. “What’d I just say?” 

Hank opened his mouth, and then snapped it shut again, “Nothing. Look, just rest for now. I’ll come check on you later. I’d rather people not...find you.” 

Charles watched him go. Then he tried to move, and found that his legs were completely numb, “Hank!” 

Hank turned, “You should be able to feel your legs in a couple of hours. It was either that, or we tie you up.” He sounded sorry, but his eyes were hard, “Look, I have to go. I’ll be back in to talk to you about your new medication.” The first part of that was a lie, Hank knew that Charles controlled minds. Hank also knew that Charles probably couldn’t tell muscles to not numb themselves. 

Charles wanted to tell him to _stay_ , but he knew he couldn’t. 

He spent the morning skimming through some literature about his new drugs (recent studies) that had been placed on the table. Hank was not very subtle, but at least he planned for everything. 

A soft cough made him look up. There was a young woman standing there in the doorway. She was lovely, with flaming red hair, and bright yellow green eyes. She had very, very pale skin. 

“...Do I know you?” 

Right before his eyes, he saw her skin darken, and her hair lighten. The sundress she was wearing became a baggy t-shirt and denim shorts. Charles would have shown her more of a reaction, really, but he was on (top-dollar) drugs, and he was exhausted from last night. 

“Raven? Did you just --” 

_He really doesn’t know._ She looked at him, with something close to akin to pity in her eyes, and Charles looked away. He hated it when people looked at him like that. 

“I’m not going to stay,” she said very softly. “Erik just asked me to check on you. He said he upset you last night, and said that you probably didn’t want to see him.” 

Something caught in his throat and stayed there. “I don’t want to see him.” 

Raven approached the bed, and she put her hand on his wrist. 

_You are one of us. Erik has been looking for someone like you, perhaps his entire life._

Charles looked at her, “I never asked for any of this.” 

She looked like she wanted to hit him. No, Raven did want to hit him, but she remembered Erik. “I don’t think anyone asked for anything like this.” _I certainly didn’t. How dare you say I did._

Almost instinctively, Charles noticed her fingers, and how bone-thin they looked. He was afraid to shut his eyes. He was afraid he might see a girl staring into a mirror with hollow eyes. Perhaps he would even hear retching sounds in a bathroom. 

“Don’t,” she said. “Anyway, I should be leaving. I promised to help Erik out with stuff back at the Center.” 

“Raven.” 

She looked so young and lost, “What?” 

“Close the door a moment,” Charles said. 

She wasn’t her like her brother, and the fact that this strange Charles Xavier read minds -- controlled them, even -- that bothered her. It should bother him too, except it didn’t. Erik too, had been alone a long time. 

“Why?” Raven pursed her lips tightly together. “What are you going to make me do?” 

“Nothing, if you don’t want to,” Charles said. 

“You’re a telepath,” she said. And again, reminded him that he hated the word because it simply didn’t sound real. “I’m not just going to believe you.” But she walked over to the door without him telling her, and shut it with a quiet click. 

“But still, here you are.” 

She glared at him, one of her eyes flared into a brilliant shade of gold. 

“What do you want?” 

“Please let me see what you really look like.” 

Raven was quiet for a very long time, but then she opened her mouth, “I --” 

The door swung open, revealing a haggard-looking Hank. “Charles, I don’t have long, I just have to --” When he noted Raven, he stopped, and flushed a fairly obvious shade of pink. Charles didn’t have to read minds to figure out what was going on. 

“Oh, Raven. I didn’t know you were here.” 

“I was, you know.” Raven gestured with her hands awkwardly. “For my brother. He’s tied up at the Center this morning and asked me to look in on Charles. But I’ve really got to go.” 

Hank’s face fell a little. 

“Actually, how long until this damn thing wears off?” Some of the feeling was returning to his legs, but Charles had a feeling that if he tried to stand, he’d fall on his knees again. 

Hank still didn’t look sorry. He glanced quickly at his watch, “Should wear off in the next half hour. If you haven’t been moving around.” 

“I haven’t,” Charles waved his hand over at the books and journals piled beside him on the bed, a testament to his good behavior. “Would you all like to go to lunch? My treat, for inconveniencing everyone.” He spared Raven a look, “Erik too. If he can manage to be borrowed.” 

Both of their faces instantly brightened up. Raven said, “If you’re the one borrowing him, I’m sure he won’t mind. I’ll go bring him right now. Um, see you in a bit, Hank.” 

Somewhere, a watch was going off. Charles looked down at his own wrist and heaved a sigh. 

“Great,” Hank said. He seemed to have gotten his energy back in the short span of minutes, “We can talk about your new pills.” 

 

Charles didn’t exactly know why they’d switched his regimen from before, but he was now supposed to take ten pills every eight hours. The side-effects were also allegedly less, and maybe Charles would stop fainting so much. Hank made him swallow all of it, before he’d let Charles get on his feet. One of the pills was barely FDA-approved. But at least it was approved. He had no idea that his cousin and Moira were so chummy. He needed to give her a call. 

When Erik poked his head in the room, he witnessed Charles stumbling around in the room with still rubbery legs that weren’t really his. The man’s expression flitted between amusement and concern, “What -- happened to you?” 

“A neuromuscular blocker happened to me,” Charles said, making it a point not to glare at Hank. “It’s been more than thirty minutes.” 

“I said about thirty minutes, not that fault if you don’t react within the average statistics,” Hank said, avoiding his eyes anyway. 

Raven came in the room behind her brother, “ -- Are we going?” 

“...We are leaving as soon as I can walk.” Charles gave up stumbling and returned to the bed. 

Erik stepped into the room and walked over to him. _Are you all right? About last night, I am sorry._

Charles gave a preemptive wince, because he expected a pang right then. The medication never made other people’s thoughts go away, it just hurt to hear them. Strangely enough, he felt nothing. Must be the new drugs not working. Not that he wasn’t used to that. 

_Why are you sorry?_

_It is my fault that you’re here, in case Hank didn’t tell you._ Hank...Hank sort of did, but Charles was making an effort not to dwell too much after the fact. 

Now Charles had a headache, he pressed two fingers heavily against his temple. He hated it when Erik made him think about these things. He’d much rather be crazy. That made things so much easier.

“I think I’m okay now, let’s go.” 

 

They went to the cafe, where Charles had first saw Erik. Janos showed them to a corner table and brought them drinks. A beer for Erik, a glass of white wine for Charles, water for Hank, and cola for Raven. Charles guessed that Hank was having water to make sure she didn’t feel left out. 

“Please tell me you’re going to eat more than half a salad.” Erik chided his sister. 

Raven set her jaw tight, “I’m not very hungry.” It seemed like they’d had this conversation before. 

Charles’ head was still spinning, but he liked how sweet the rose wine was. And it was either the wine, or his new pills, that was making him feel pleasantly foggy. 

Hank said, “I’m actually not all that hungry either, maybe we can split a sandwich?” It seemed to Charles that Hank never fully understood anything, but he was always eager to make peace. It was one of his favorite things about his cousin. 

_None of them get it! -- Especially --_ But Raven fixed up a smile and turned to Hank again, “Yeah, sure. If you want to.” 

After that had passed, Charles noticed that Erik’s shoulders had lost some of their tension, but then Erik looked at him, and didn’t think anything. 

“I think I’ll, um. Go wash my hands,” said Charles, getting to his feet. He was still a little shaky, but it was lot better than before. 

“I’ll come with you,” Hank pushed back his chair. 

“It’s all right, take a break from babysitting me too,” Charles’ smile was a dry one. “I think I can take a trip to the men’s room alone without fainting on anybody.” 

He wondered who would follow him. Charles’ guess was Erik, and he wasn’t wrong. Until “Erik” grabbed his shoulders and pushed him against the wall. 

“I don’t know what you’re playing at. Whatever you’re doing, stop it.” 

Charles took in a sharp breath, “Let go of me, Raven.” 

“Erik” melted back to being Raven again, and she stepped away from him. “Have you told Hank about me?” 

“He doesn’t know anything,” Charles said, smoothing out a wrinkle in his shirt. “But even if he does...look, he’s put up with me for years. He thinks I’m insane, and he’s still here.” Of course, Hank was still shoving pills down his throat, but that came with all the other things he didn’t know about. 

“You don’t look anything like --” she bit into her lower lip. “Erik doesn’t get it.” 

_And you do. You know how cruel people can be._

Charles looked at her, and he knew. She didn’t know who she was, but what Raven wanted was so simple. She felt that Erik understood that, but there were so many other things. 

Her skin was turning blue. Her eyes were gold, like before. 

“Raven, that’s enough. Let Charles alone.” Erik’s voice, the real Erik. 

Charles had never seen anything like it. He could do little else but stare. 

“Oh.” Then he let out a breath he wasn’t aware of holding. “That’s...that’s sort of glorious.” It was strange, but beautiful in an equally strange sort of way.

Raven stalked out of the restroom. Erik sighed, “She looks fine. I’ve told her that countless times.” Then he added, “You look pale.” 

“Erik, you might think that she looks fine,” Charles turned his face towards a mirror mounted on the wall. It was easy for him to blink away the dust, and touches his own reflection in the glass. _But the reality is that not a lot of people will look blue._ You know that. It was only the truth.

“I’m not stupid,” said Erik. “But if she goes on like this, it’s not healthy for her. And I’m not just talking about her, either.” 

Erik’s eyes bore so deeply into his that Charles winced. He felt nearly hollow. 

_What’s going to happen to you if you keep taking your medication, Charles? Your migraines will get worse. You might even lose your telepathy._

_That’s sort of the point. I’ve done horrible things with -- Charles had to look away. There was a familiar lump in his throat, -- my affliction, I never, I never wanted to hurt anyone._

“It’s not your fault.” Erik spread out his hands, as if by his words alone, Charles Xavier would be magnanimously absolved of all his sins. 

“You don’t even know what you’re forgiving me for,” Charles looked at him. Erik looked so damn earnest, it almost hurt, just like his headaches. “It may not be my fault, but it is on my conscience. And it’s going to stay there.”

“It doesn’t have to.” 

Charles touched the side of the man’s face, and it struck him how cold his own hand was. And everything that was sodding Erik Lehnsherr thrummed through the tips of his fingers like small electric shocks. Erik was so alive. He dropped his hand, but the warmth remained.

Then he walked away, he had to. If he stayed, Erik might even start to make sense. This wasn’t something that was supposed to make sense. 

“Charles, listen to me.” 

“I don’t understand what you want from me, tell me what is it that you want.” 

Erik said nothing. 

Charles said, “I thought so.”

This time, it was easier to walk away. 

 

Scott Summers was eight-years-old. He was an aspiring comic-book artist, and Alex said that he hoped he was going to save up enough money for Scott to go to art camp next summer. Scott shared Alex’s cheekbones, but he had light brown hair. 

“Mutant guy” was apparently nothing like Scott had imagined him, and yet he was still completely fascinated by Charles. 

“I thought you’d look cooler,” were his first words when Alex steered Havok away from Pala. “Do you always wear a tie?” 

“Glad to see you’ve taught your little brother manners,” Charles tugged idly at his tie. “I’m sorry I don’t look cooler, Scott.” 

Alex was about to reach for a cigarette, but before Charles could remind him, he changed his mind. “Well, someone has to.” 

“Sarcasm goes over your head, too?” 

“I have selective hearing,” Alex said cheerfully. He turned, and took a seat next to Scott and put an arm around him. “So...I still don’t get this. What exactly is this?”

“I’m just paying you back for the other day.” Charles turned his eyes away from them towards the ocean. The ocean was a remorseful gray green today, but calm. 

Alex tilted his head curiously, “Yeah, about that. What’d I do?” 

Charles tapped a thoughtful finger against his forehead, “You really don’t remember.” He distinctively remembered that he hadn’t used any mind tricks, so unless it was a trick that Erik hadn’t told him about. Or maybe it was because that was two weeks earlier, and Alex didn’t have that good of a short-term memory.

“I don’t remember,” Alex shrugged. “But if you’re so set on doing us a favor, I’m not going to say no. The last time I went to see dolphins, guy at the aquarium told me that they came down with something.” 

Scott said, “I’ve never seen any dolphins.” Poking his brother severely in the shoulder, “Alex never takes me anywhere.” 

“...Does dolphins make me kind of cool, then?” Charles hoped he didn’t sound too hopeful because he wasn’t. 

Scott thought this over, “May-be.” He said finally, “I’ll have to go home and draw your picture over again. This time I think I’ll put dolphins in it.” 

Charles laughed, but then he stopped laughing when his watch beeped. He frowned, but reached for the bottle of water he’d brought with him. 

Both brothers looked on with undisguised interest as Charles lined up all his pills on a scrap of napkin. Alex said, “All that?” 

“Upside is that I only have to take them three times a day.” Charles took a gulp of water and took his first handful of pills. 

“...Jesus, what’s wrong with you?” There was maybe a little bit of awe in Alex’s voice. As if the pills immediately made someone dysfunctional, and yet Charles never gave any sign that he was unstable. Yet. It was easier being in the company of people with no secrets.

Charles said, “They don’t really know. Most of this is still preventive.” 

Alex said, “So...they don’t know what’s wrong with you, so they make you take a fuck --” Before that word completely slipped out, Alex hastily exchanged it for, “a boatload of drugs hoping one will work?” 

Scott only blinked once. 

“Pretty much,” Charles stared down at the remaining pills in his palm. Before he could change his mind, he swallowed them. “I can’t take any chances.” 

_I’m never getting a PhD. These people are insane._ Alex’s expression said as much. 

“You really shouldn’t,” Charles agreed mildly. If ‘insanity’ or any of its variants were used in conjunction with the word ‘Ph.D,’ then he had to agree with it. 

“ -- Huh?” 

“Nothing,” Charles said. “You can stop the boat now. I think we’ve gone out far enough.” 

Scott peered out into the sea, “I don’t see any dolphins.” 

Charles tucked his pill bottles away and stood up. Erik made it sound so easy. In a way, maybe it was. After all, dolphins were completely different from human beings. They were never going to lock him up because he could talk to dolphins. 

“You will. Just wait a minute.” 

Perhaps it was because Charles had already done it before, it was easier this time. And there was no stabbing pang in his head. In fact, he almost felt at peace, when the vision of Emma swam hazily into his mind’s eye. She was with her school this time. And Charles did not know if dolphins could smile, but it seemed that she was smiling at him.

Can’t hide, after all. No, not smiling, smirking, maybe. 

_I’m not hiding._

“Look, Alex, look!” Scott bounded to the side of the boat, and leaned over. He pointed excitedly, “There’s dolphins! Over there!” 

“Scott, careful, you’ll fall over.” 

Emma poked her head out of the water, _Hi-ding,_ she chirped, almost gleefully. Charles couldn’t talk to the rest of her friends -- at least he thought they were friends, they might be minions. Azazel was among them. Maybe she was telling them to laugh at him, too. 

_No. It’s not like that at all._

_Erik knows._ Emma told him that with her eyes, as she dove into the water again. 

Charles said, “You don’t talk to Erik!” Then he realized he’d spoken aloud. 

Alex glanced at him, “I’m sorry?” 

“Erik the shark guy?” Scott’s attention was torn at once from the dolphins. 

Charles quickly, “Nothing. Yes, Erik the shark guy. But...never mind.” 

Emma rose out of the water and splashed the side of their boat almost petulantly before swimming off into the distance. The others soon followed. Azazel lingered a little, as if to convey how disappointed he was. Azazel didn’t say so in so many words, but Charles just knew. Apparently even dolphins were disappointed in him.

Alex put a hand on his shoulder, “Do I...want to know how you did that?” 

Charles only thought for a moment before coming to a decision; it was the only feasible decision he could have made, “I don’t think you really do.” 

“Okay then. Suit yourself,” Alex shrugged. 

 

The fact that even dolphins were disappointed in him made Charles Xavier seriously consider rethinking his position in life.

“You know shark guy?” Scott asked him, as Alex tied Havok securely in its rightful place, “Can I meet shark guy?” 

“Actually, more like dolphin guy,” said Charles unnecessarily, but he needed something to distract Scott from wanting to meet shark guy. He didn’t like to think he was avoiding Erik Lehnsherr, although technically, he was. He hoped that dolphins weren’t nearly as interesting as the sharks. 

Scott looked confused.

“He’s being boring and studying dolphins this summer,” said Alex, coming to his rescue. “Come on, Scott, don’t you want to get something to eat?” 

Charles didn’t remember much about being eight, but he suddenly began to understand why his mother never liked him when he was growing up. Scott turned to him with bright, hopeful eyes, “After that, can I go see shark guy?” 

“...You didn’t listen to a word I said, did you, kiddo?” 

“Nope.” 

Charles opened his mouth and closes it again, “Erik is very busy. I don’t think he’d want to be bothered.” 

“And we wouldn’t want to be a bother, Scott,” Alex gave his brother a pointed glance. “Would we?” 

“But that’s not fair. You always have cooler friends than I do.” 

It’s not fair that I don’t get to be like you. It’s not it’s not it’s not fair. 

There was a sharp pang in his head, and perhaps a stab of resentment. Resentment that Charles pretended not to recognize, although he did anyway. He might be the older cousin that Hank always looked up to, but Hank was the one who Charles was jealous of without question. 

“Tell you what,” Charles turned back and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “The moment that Erik gets not busy, I’ll tell Alex, and then you can visit him.” 

Scott’s face was still scrunched up in disappointment, but he nodded, “Do you promise?” 

“Yes, Scott, I promise.” Charles tried not to feel bad. All he really had to do was say Erik was busy. Even if Charles decided not to visit him on purpose, Erik being busy was practically a given. Nothing he needed to guess at. 

“Well, you know where to find me,” Alex said with a shrug. “See you around, Charles.” 

\--

He stopped at the cafe and had a late snack, or perhaps an early dinner. Fortunately, Erik wasn’t there. Having nowhere else to go after that, Charles made his way back to the hotel. One of the receptionists gave him a confused look and waved him over, “Mr. Xavier, a moment, please?” 

Charles walked over, “Yes?” The young man’s tag read Levine. He was impeccably dressed, but only because he was poor and wanted to hide it. 

“Weren’t you just up...” Levine gestured awkwardly with his hands. 

“No, I’ve been out.” 

In Levine’s mind, Charles saw a man wearing his face stride up to the front desk -- “I’m sorry, I seem to have misplaced my key. Do you have a spare?”The voice was his, too. 

“ -- Sir?” 

Charles’ head suddenly hurt, and his watch was beeping. He needed to get upstairs to his pills. He made an impressive sprint to the nearest elevator, leaving behind a very confused Levine.

\--

Charles didn’t exactly know what awaited him in his room, so he was prepared for the worst. Charles entered his hotel room, and stared at himself on his bed. The binder with his thesis in it was open. Once he walked close enough to the bed, he snatched up his papers. 

“Erik sent you?” 

The beeping of his watch sounded louder than ever, but for whatever reason, Charles could not bring himself to shut off the alarm. If he shut off the alarm, it would mean that something changed. He didn’t want anything to change, but at the same time, he didn’t think things should stay the same, either. 

“I don’t just run to wherever Erik tells me to,” Raven said. But she said it in Charles’ voice, still using his face. 

“Stop that. That’s my face.” 

You really don’t understand anything, do you? 

Charles watched as her skin became brilliant blue, and she reached to pull his thesis from his grasp. And then she was just Raven the too-skinny blonde girl again. 

And yet you understand so much. She smiled at him, and in her eyes, Charles saw a little girl in tattered clothing taking a large bowl of soup from a boy with a solemn face.

“Why are you so sad?” 

“-- Because he saw his mother die,” Charles spoke without thinking. 

She looked at him, “He told you that?” 

“Not exactly, I saw.” Charles usually saw things when he didn’t want to. His head was starting to hurt again, but he knew with a strange sort of clarity, that this particular pain wasn’t from the plethora of pills he had to take every ten hours. 

His watch had stopped beeping. Everything was too still. 

Raven tapped his binder knowingly and said, “Did you see this too?” 

“I don’t know what you mean.” That was a lie, and perhaps an obvious one. Of course Charles knew what she was talking about, but he needed to hear her say it. 

“Your thesis is about mutations,” she used a tone of voice that reminded Charles a lot of Hank’s when he was explaining calculus to his mother. Like it was easy, he couldn’t believe that she didn’t understand. It was the same way now, but it wasn’t the same. 

“It’s all theoretical,” Charles said blandly. “I prefaced that on page ii.” 

She didn’t seem to be listening. Instead, Raven said, “Do you want to know what Erik told me, once?” 

For some reason, Charles was so overcome that he had to swallow, “What did Erik tell you?” 

Raven made a face, “That if I wanted society to accept me, I had to accept myself. He isn’t blue, you know.” 

Charles kept his mouth shut, because he didn’t know quite what to say. Besides, she didn’t sound like she was finished. 

There was silence. It got heavy. He attempted to lift it. 

“You shouldn’t blame your brother,” Charles said. “He doesn’t know any better.” 

“Of course he doesn’t,” she said, sounding bored, as if she had already had this conversation before, lots of times. Each time, the outcome was the same so there wasn’t any sense in paying attention. 

“What do you want me to do about it?” That seemed to be the next most logical question, although Charles doubt that she really wanted him to do anything, or if he even could. Erik Lehnsherr seemed so content nearing the top of the world, with everything that he could ever want at the tip of his fingers. 

Raven picked idly at her nails, painted bright blue (Charles noticed this for the very first time), “The fact that you can read minds made you do something bad, didn’t it?” 

“I thought that was obvious,” what with Hank more or less freaking out about his pills all the time. 

“Erik did too, almost,” Raven said solemnly. “But he didn’t and he’s never going to. He’s not that kind of person.” She got up from the bed and stood level with him, looking directly into his eyes. Her eyes flared gold, and Charles had to steel himself to keep from wincing. 

“I want a world where I can look like this,” her skin was blue. “It must be the world you want too, Charles, otherwise, why would you make such a thing your life’s work?” 

Maybe it was. Charles had never thought about it this way, but he supposed that it must be true. For him, it was just much safer to play in a proverbial pool full of academic elites, because while his work would get certain recognition, there wasn’t anyone who would take his work too seriously. Even if permanently blue skin was somehow an acceptable mutation, he doubted that telepathy would be so similarly welcomed. In academia, brilliant minds were there for the theory and the science. No one really questioned the practicality of the thing. People like Dr. Daniel Shomron were a rare find. 

“It’s going to be different for both of us,” Charles said. “I am nothing like you.” 

“I never said you were,” she said. Maybe she echoed his words from before, because Charles thought they sounded familiar. “And I’m glad you’re not like me.” Raven’s face scrunched up, as if it was painful, and it cost her so much to say them. “Erik doesn’t need someone like me. He needs someone like you.”

_Because you know. You understand. You can rescue him if he needs rescuing again._

“ -- I.” Charles started, and then he stopped. He realized, that he really had nothing to say. Or, he had things to say, but they weren’t useful. 

“By the way,” Raven decided to let him go with a small smile, “you know your watch stopped beeping, right?” 

“Yeah, I noticed.” The usual desire to run to his pills was strangely absent. His head felt like it weighed fifty pounds, but there was no pain. That was the funny part. 

The silence was starting to warm up, shedding its awkwardness from before like a tired, old skin. Charles opened his mouth, if only to say that he didn’t know how else to go about it -- this was the way he’d always been, and even without all of his pills, there didn’t seem to be any other way. 

The doorknob suddenly clicked open, revealing Hank, who immediately saw Raven. A very, very blue Raven, and paused to stare, before he realized he was staring. Hastily, he collected himself in the Ivy-League fashion and coughed politely into his hand, “Oh, um. You’re...blue.” 

Raven might have flushed red, but since she was...as Hank so eloquently put it, _blue_ , Charles couldn’t exactly tell. After a belated pause, she said, “Yes, Hank, I’m blue.” 

Hank pushed a hand against his glasses and coughed again. Charles looked over at his cousin, trying to gauge some sort of a reaction. He didn’t find much. Hank tended to screw this kind of thing up. When he had caught Charles with Cain, Hank had babbled incoherently, and then he’d fainted. 

So that night, Hank had been taken to the emergency room, and Charles had been taken to central booking. As an act of true contrition the next morning, Hank had come to, then he’d written a check to get Charles out on bail. 

With that reaction as precedent in mind, Charles went to fetch a towel. 

“You’re...blue. Have you always been blue?” There was something that might have been awe coloring Hank’s voice. He took off his glasses, wiped them, and put them back on. Raven was still very blue. 

She nodded. Charles stopped with one foot in the bathroom door and pivoted on one heel.

“That’s...” Hank trailed off, obviously he was trying to search for the most suitable words. “Oh, that’s -- um. 

Without thinking, Charles looked at Hank, _It’s glorious. She’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen._

“ -- That’s brilliant,” said Hank. “I’ve never seen anything like you.” 

Her smile brightened up, just like her eyes. Charles breathed in a sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure how much of that reply was his and how much that was Hank’s, but it was a start. 

 

It was important to note that Raven hadn’t changed his mind. Charles’ mind had been set for a long time. A sudden excess of mutations as manifested in other people just landing in his lap out of coincidence was not going to change his mind. But something else was going to have to change, he knew that much.

That following Friday, Charles tagged along with Hank and Raven, who wanted to see the garden. They were supposed to go two weeks ago, but apparently Hank had overestimated his allotted twenty-four hours in a day, and work had piled up at the clinic, to say the very least. 

The garden was still under construction, but what they could see, they enjoyed. One of their tour guides said that the garden would be ready for the public in a year and a half. There was still a lot of work to be done.

Charles hadn’t been on his medication for the past three days. He didn’t exactly know why, it just sort of happened. Hank had asked him about it only once, and the first excuse Charles had thought to give him was merely that he didn’t want to rely on his watch all the time. If the alarm broke one of these days, he wouldn’t be too surprised. The watch was sturdy, but someone at the hospital had affixed the alarm at some cheap place, and Charles was only waiting for the inevitable. 

On the downside, more often than not, he heard thoughts that he didn’t want to hear, but he was getting better at keeping them to himself. On the upside, his headaches had --

“Hey.” 

“Hey, _Charles_.” 

Charles blinked, and said, “I heard you the first time.” 

Hank looked incredulous. He was holding a bottle of mustard in one hand, “Yeah? And what did I say, the first time?” _Must be the medication. He needs to go outside more often._ Raven just looked amused and thought _they’re adorable._

Charles opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He didn’t exactly need to exacerbate their opinions of him. 

“I was asking you if you wanted mustard.” 

“Sure.” 

Hank lathered on a generous amount of mustard and handed Charles his sandwich. Even if the hotel’s security was lacking, they were generous with their catering. The food also wasn’t bad. 

It was a nice day out, and Charles had lagged behind them enough to avoid hearing any of their thoughts. Only one or two had leaked out -- that Hank thought green was a very suitable color for Raven. (He’d used the world “suitable.”) Raven wanted to talk about the fact that she was blue but didn’t quite know how to approached the subject. Then again, this particular outing was Hank’s idea. She kind of hated that even boys in their twenties were confusing. 

“Charles, d’you want some water?” 

He nodded, and took the thermos that Raven handed to him. She hadn’t said much to him all day, but that was all right. Charles had a feeling that he was mostly here as an accessory, anyway. 

It felt like things were almost back to normal. It was not until the end, when the helicopter had dropped them off, that he realized it. Neither of them had asked Charles about his medication. 

 

When Charles woke up, he found a post-it tacked on the end table. On it, Hank had scribbled in an excited scrawl: _Come to the clinic when you wake up. Big news!_

He put on khakis and a t-shirt because the weather was projected to be in the high eighties all day. Charles felt a little strange being in such informal clothing, but it was what everyone else was wearing. The people at the clinic had their lab coats, but they had an energy generator that gave them air conditioning. 

He found Raven managing the front desk, “I heard Hank was looking for me?” 

Since their bike ride to the gardens, Raven had looked happier. She still looked very thin, and refused to look blue in public, but she definitely looked happier, and between the two of them, Hank and Charles had managed to convince her to eat an entire sandwich. He wondered if Erik knew about that. 

“He was all excited about it, yeah. I haven’t the slightest. I think he’s doing rounds now, but he’ll probably bounce out here when he’s done.” She shrugged, “I mean, I don’t know if you’d want to wait.” 

“Oh,” Charles wandered over to the scattered chairs and sat down. “I guess I can wait.” 

After a moment, she asked him, “Have you been by to see Erik?” 

There was a strange lump in Charles’ throat that was hard to swallow, “ -- No, I haven’t. Not yet.” It was something he’d meant to do, although for what purpose he was still unsure.

She looked like she wanted to berate him about it. Charles had purposely chosen a chair far enough away from the desk, so that he didn’t have to listen to her thoughts. 

About fifteen minutes after that, Hank wandered by. He brightened up immediately when he saw Charles, “Oh, there you are. What took you so long?” 

“I've forgotten how to be productive,” Charles admitted with a tired shrug. “Did you want to show me something?” The post-it note had sounded urgent, as only a post-it note could. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Hank waved him down the hallway. _I bet he’ll be thrilled._

Charles followed Hank down the hallway into what looked like to be a small examination room. He wondered what he would be so excited about. The last time Charles had partaken in something like this, Hank was seventeen and wanted to give him a trial vaccination for the seasonal common cold -- or something, he couldn’t quite remember. It hadn’t ended well. 

He sat down gingerly on the edge of a rolling stool. 

“Charles, you haven’t been taking your medication, have you?” 

Oh. Even without prying into Hank’s mind, Charles should have known it was something like that. “My headaches are getting better.” 

Hank turned and gave him a distinctly ‘you should know better than this’ sort of look. “Are you still hearing voices?” 

“You make me sound like a schizophrenic.” 

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Hank said shortly, and turned from the table he’d been fiddling at. “Are you?” 

“I’m trying not to let them bother me,” Charles shrugged. “Just sometimes.” 

“Here,” said Hank. 

Charles had to blink a couple of times until he realized that Hank was handing him a syringe. This was beginning to seem familiar, and he as starting to get a bad feeling. Charles took it, and stared at the stuff in the syringe. It was something puss yellow. It was thick, like viscous glue.

“...What’s this?” 

“Okay, before you freak out on me, hear me out.” Hank took a seat in the other stool, “The only reason you can hear thoughts is because your brain is ten times more hyperactive than everyone else’s. This is also sort of explains why you’re genius.”

“Then why are you genius?” Charles said, he couldn’t quite get the bitterness out of his voice. 

_For God’s sake, I’m trying to help you._

“Just tell me what this thing does,” Charles tapped the syringe with a suspicious finger. 

“It’ll stop you from reading other people’s minds. It’ll take out the functions of your brain that you don’t normally use,” Hank said. “I’ve been working on this ever since you started he -- I mean, reading minds.”

Which meant Hank had been working this for five years, give or take. That time when he was seventeen, maybe it wasn’t a cold vaccination, after all. Now everything made sense. 

“Next, I suppose you’ll be make Raven something to keep her from looking blue.” Because Hank was a scientist and science solved everything. 

Hank was giving a desperate kind of look, “You’ll go through life with people afraid of you. It’s one thing if she looks blue, but it’s another thing if you’re always invading people’s privacy. It’s their _minds_. The one thing that should be private. Look, if you do this, no more pills, no more headaches. You can go back to normal.” He placed an imploring hand on Charles’ shoulder. 

If you’re too stubborn to do it for yourself, do it for me. I hate seeing you like this. 

“Just think, Charles, you won’t be crazy. Scientists won’t want to x-ray your brain, you won’t have to fight off journalists trying to make you a quack.” 

Because Hank had watched him through all that, Hank McCoy knew his pains more than anyone else. 

“Hank, I’m not crazy. I’m a lot of things. But not crazy.” 

Hank said, “He knows nothing about you. Erik doesn’t know anything about where you’ve been. Don’t be stupid.” 

Charles Xavier was never stupid. Just once in his life, maybe he could afford to be. He stood up from the stool and smiled at Hank. 

“I think I have to go.” 

 

“Erik?” Sean scrunched his nose in deep thought, “He should be with the dolphins, unless he’s already left for lunch. But you know, he always has lunch at the same place.” 

Charles made his way down the stairs to the pool enclosure. He could see a man swimming in a wetsuit next to two dolphins. 

Emma noticed him first, You are not hiding. She might have sounded disappointed, Charles might have been able to read dolphin thoughts, but he still couldn’t read dolphin. Then again, that might be a good thing.

“Erik, I’m not crazy.” 

Erik’s damp head emerged from underneath the water and he peered at Charles for a long time, “I never said you were,” he said evenly. It didn’t seem quite like a complete sentence, but that was where he left off.

“I tried to kill someone.” Charles continued. If he didn’t continue, he thought he might lose his nerves altogether. “I tried to kill my stepbrother by making him throw himself out of a second-story window. He cracked his spine. They don’t think he’s ever going to walk again.” 

There was a quiet splash as Erik got out of the water. 

_I can’t say that it isn’t your fault, Charles. You know that._

Charles looked down at the ground. _I know. But I don’t understand why you’d want to forgive me._

Erik should have looked ridiculous in his wetsuit, and Charles should have laughed at him, but he couldn’t. _You’re such a failure of a telepath, Charles Xavier. Like you only hear what you want to._ But still, his words were oddly warm, like they shouldn’t be. 

Charles prickled indignantly, just a little, “I don’t understand you. You’ve only met one, anyway. The least I can do is set a low standard.” 

Erik laughed. And then he stopped laughing. 

“You were put on trial, weren’t you?” 

If Charles closed his eyes, he could still see McCone’s impassive face. McCone was a good attorney, but he was also afraid. He’d spent the whole trial insisting that Charles had to be chained to a desk. Apparently he hadn’t the slightest idea how this mind reading thing was supposed to work. But then again, Charles hadn’t told him everything, because he needed to have his lawyer on his side. He didn’t need McCone freaking out too. 

“Did Shomron tell you?” Charles had never explicitly told his professor not to tell people, but he’d thought it was kind of obvious. Unless Shomron was telling people for scientific reasons, but even that felt like a slight kick in the gut. 

“He told me that you were like me, didn’t exactly say why,” said Erik. He reached for a nearby towel and was wiping his hair dry.

“We’re nothing alike,” Charles crossed his arms. “You weren’t the one that had to write your stepbrother a check so that he wouldn’t send you to jail. The charges were dropped. And then I had to be hospitalized anyway. The paper ran a story about how it was the most interesting attempted suicide in history.” Said paper was sued for six point two million. 

“But you are sorry, aren’t you?” 

“Of course I’m sorry,” there were days when Charles wasn’t sorry; those were the days he made himself forget about, but all the days he remembered, he was sorry. It was a sore lump in the pit of his stomach that never went away. 

Erik put down his towel and looked over, “You know, you’re right.” 

“About what?” Charles blinked.

“You’re not like me, you’re perhaps much better than I will ever be,” Erik said. “Would you like some lunch?” 

 

Janos brought them drinks, Erik’s customary beer, and ice tea for Charles with extra ice. Although it wasn’t scientifically proven, Charles thought that the extra ice made him more aware, and if the ice didn’t help, the placebo effect in his head did. It’d worked before. 

“Raven said you almost killed someone.” 

Erik gave him a stark sort of look, as the brought the can to his lips, “Did she tell you that, or did you read it?” 

Charles inhaled sharply, “ -- She told me. But does it bother you? What is it like, if I’m inside your head?” 

There was a long pause, Erik shrugged. “I don’t mind. I don’t feel quite so alone. It’s nice, sometimes. Especially if you’re me.” 

_Really?_ It freaked out Hank, and it probably bothered Raven, although she was the one who gave him the “different people shouldn’t hide” speech. It helped, but Charles could tell that it bothered her, nonetheless. 

_Really. Is that so surprising?_

Charles shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know. I mean, for all of you, it’d be okay, right? All of you are just...” He trailed off. He knew how he wanted to finish, but it didn’t sound good in his head.

 _I had it all worked out in my head. How I wanted to kill him. He killed my mother and he’d drove off like it was nothing,_ the can in Erik’s hand was shaking. Charles’ fork was twitching. _I was going to kill him before I turned eighteen, so that if they caught me, I’d still be tried as a minor._

Morbid, thought Charles, but practical. Maybe he should have thought of that, but he hadn’t started to read minds until he was entering his twenties. 

_Why didn’t you kill him?_

_Because_ , Erik put down his can and looked at him. _Then nothing would change. I need things to change. I want things to change. For Raven, for you. For me too._ There was a softer thought after that, a thought that Charles probably wasn’t supposed to hear, but heard anyway, as clear as clinking glass -- _but I am not sorry._

 _But you don’t know me,_ Charles watched as his fork stopped quivering. 

“I could,” Erik said softly. “If you’d let me. And maybe one day things will be different.” 

The back of his eyes almost felt hot. Erik was not making him a promise, but Charles did not need a promise for the future. This was different. Maybe it was the beginning of change. All good things had to start with change.

Erik held up his can and Charles clinked his glass against the rim. They sat there together, sharing a quiet, clear silence.


End file.
